Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(47)

He heard her whispering to herself, “Open mind, open mind,” and thought she had her finger curled through one of his belt loops.

“Staying close to the bloodsucker now?” Elizabeth’s fear was so mortal, so unqueenly. Another example of how inferior she was to courageous Saroya.

Elizabeth’s attempted blaze of glory five years ago? Her joining him in the shadows earlier? Mere feeblemindedness, Lothaire decided.

“At present, I’m figuring you’re the lesser of two evils.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “You couldn’t be more mistaken.”

“She’s the hag?” Elizabeth murmured. “She doesn’t look like one. Does she turn into one at night or something?”

Hag sighed at her ignorance. In a disdainful tone, she said, “And you brought human company.”

“My enemies already know she’s in my keeping.”

“Within mere hours?”

“N?x.” He didn’t need to say more.

“We should update our encryption keys every hour.”

He nodded.

The fey circled Elizabeth, her pointed ears twitching. “She’s even prettier than in my visions.”

“Did you expect anything less from my Bride?”

“Visions?” Elizabeth’s timid stance disappeared, and she pushed away from him to glare at Hag. “You’re the one who told this freak how to find me?”

Hag ignored her as she might a yapping dog. “Her body will breed well, even after you turn her,” she remarked to Lothaire.

He’d been so preoccupied with the act of breeding that he’d never thought about the result.

What would his offspring be like, when gotten upon this body? Though vampires reproduced sparingly, he pictured numerous towheaded children with determined gray eyes. “I’ll require many heirs.”

Comprehension—and horror—dawned in Elizabeth’s expression.

How bizarre to realize that one’s body would go on, Lothaire mused, would produce young for others.

“My children.” Elizabeth balled her fists. “Raised by you and your disgusting bitch.” If she struck him as she so longed to do, she’d break the bones in her hand.

When Hag gave an assessing squeeze of Elizabeth’s hip, the girl whirled around, swinging one of those fists. He traced between them, catching it with his palm. “Never touch this fey. Never. Her skin is poisonous.”

Hag was a Venefican, a poisoned lady. As a girl, she’d been fed small amounts of poison until her skin had grown permanently lethal. She’d also been trained as a courtesan—put those traits together, and she was a perfect weapon.

“And before you get any suicidal ideas,” Lothaire told Elizabeth, “know that she’ll heal you before you could die. But you’d experience agony as never before.”

Elizabeth yanked her hand away from him, chin raised.

“She’s a feral little human, isn’t she?” Hag said.

“Elizabeth has not yet comprehended her place in the grand scheme of things.” He gave the girl a measured shove toward the kitchen counter. “Sit down, shut up, and touch nothing.”

She hesitated before sitting on a barstool, still bristling.

“What brings you here today?” Hag asked.

“I’ve come for a potion. I need to clear my mind to get to my memories.” My Endgame is so close. Then he’d have everything he’d always wanted.

Then I’ll finally understand the incomprehensible. . . .

“I need to focus.” On something other than Elizabeth’s allure.

Hag slanted doe-brown eyes at him. “Do you wish to discuss business in front of her?”

He shrugged. “She’ll be gone soon. But she does need to eat until then.”

Hag told her, “Go into the back room and look for a green chest decorated with leafy vines. Open the top and tell it whatever you wish to eat. Do not open the black chest decorated with spiderwebs.”

When Elizabeth merely narrowed her eyes, Lothaire said, “Do as she commands. You should follow her orders just as you will mine.”

Elizabeth rose with a huff, then sauntered into the back room. He heard a creaking hinge, then her enunciating, “Fun-yuns.”

A second later in that country drawl: “Get the hell out!”

Over his shoulder, he ordered, “Eat something nourishing.”

After a rebellious pause, she said, “Blo-berry waff-els. May-pole see-rup.” Then she cried, “Hoo!” Excellent.

She returned with a laden plate and silverware, sitting at the nearby dining table. Now that she’d regained her equilibrium, she acted unconcerned by all this, but he knew the wheels were turning, could see that calculating glint to her eyes.

Yet I can’t predict what she’ll do.

She cautiously took a bite of her breakfast, murmuring, “Oh, my God, that’s good.”

Another bite, and another. She relished her meal in an almost sensual way. He wondered if she’d be like that in bed, savoring the taste of his skin. As I’d savor hers.

Hag was telling him something and he wanted to concentrate, but he kept hearing Elizabeth’s fork on that plate, her little noises of enjoyment. He found himself rapt as she twirled a bite of waffle in syrup.

“Are you enjoying your vittles?” he grated to her.